Pining and Coffee
by Write-To-You
Summary: Five times Molly brought Sherlock coffee and one time he brought her some. (Sherlock/Molly, if that wasn't evident :)


**Author's Note: Hey! It's my second favorite pairing on Sherlock and I'm finally writing it!**

 **My sister loves these two so much, so this is partially for her :)**

 **1:**

Molly shook out her burned fingertips and hoped for a moment that Sherlock would scald his tongue on the hot coffee in the equally hot mug.

She flexed her hand for a moment, phantom pain from the heat still lingering. Molly should have just grabbed the mug by it's handle, but the body of it was closer and she had picked it up by that instead. Now her fingers were red and her hand was still stinging.

Sighing, Molly picked up the mug, the right way, and stomped out of the break room. Why she was bringing Sherlock Holmes coffee in the first place still managed to be beyond her.

It was probably something to do with his piercing gaze, charming smile, and outrageously sharp cheekbones.

Yes, that sounded about right.

Still clenching her burned hand, Molly took the coffee through the hall and down the steps into the lab. Sherlock was still hunched over his work, and-

Right. Yes. _Now_ Molly remembered why she had gone to get him coffee. It was the hair. His thick, bouncy, amazing dark curls framing his face and getting swept into his eyes by some invisible force that just wanted to torture her.

How could one man be so gorgeous and still so cold?

Molly set down the coffee with a thunk on the table.

"Mm, thanks," Sherlock muttered, taking a long sip. He spluttered. "Hot! Hot hot hot."

Against her better will, Molly grinned.

 **2:**

Molly had her own travel mug grasped in one hand when she met Sherlock at a cafe near the center of the city.

They bumped into each other there a lot. Not quite as much as the morgue, no, but it seemed that whenever Molly took a coffee break Sherlock happened to be there as well.

"Sherlock!" she called, waving at him from her spot in line.

Sherlock ignored the other patrons groans of complaint as he cut the line to stand with her. "What are you doing here?" he asked, looking around like he was already bored with the conversation.

Molly sighed, used to the lack of attention. "Just getting my coffee fix. You know, dead people can't really get coffee for you!"

Sherlock didn't laugh at her attempted joke.

"So..." Molly said awkwardly. "What are you doing here?"

"John wanted biscuits," Sherlock huffed. "And apparently the last four times _he_ went to get them, so it was my turn." He rolled his eyes like the petulant child he sometimes was. "I don't remember it that way, but he threatened to throw away my human finger collection so I decided it was best to just come get the biscuits."

Molly bit her lip to keep from laughing, because that sounded _exactly_ like something John would do.

Sherlock's phone buzzed and he looked down. "Ah. That'd be Lestrade."

He sent Molly a quick, huge smile. "Pick up some biscuits and coffee for John and I, would you? You can just drop them off at the flat."

He bounced off, leaving Molly with her mouth slightly open.

She huffed. He had better pay her back.

 **3:**

"Coffee?" Molly called out from the kitchen of 221b.

John smiled at her and shook his head. "I'm alright, thanks. Still got some tea."

"From this morning?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "That must be cold by now."

John shrugged, drinking it anyway.

"Coffee, Sherlock?" Molly asked again.

"Yes, thanks," Sherlock said, waving and hand as if to shoo her back into the kitchen. "You know how I like it."

She rolled her eyes at his brusqueness and disappeared back into the kitchen.

It didn't take long for the coffee to finish, and Molly carried it carefully (by the handle) to Sherlock's chair. He grabbed it without looking at her and put it to his mouth.

"Careful," she cautioned before he could take a sip, "It's hot."

He glanced up, surprised, as if he hadn't realized she was even there. "Right, yes. Uh... thank you. For the coffee."

Molly smiled, presently surprised and his gratitude. "No problem."

 **4:**

In the two years after Sherlock's faked death, he came to visit Molly only once.

He questioned her unceasingly about the welfare of John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. Then, finally, he asked about her.

"I've been alright," Molly said softly, not meeting his eye so that he wouldn't know she was lying. "I've been helping John and Mrs. Hudson out; bringing food and trying to keep them from falling apart. I miss how it used to be, though."

 _I miss you_ , is what she didn't say.

Sherlock nodded, and she had the feeling that he had deduced _exactly_ what she didn't say.

"How long are you staying in the city?" Molly asked, changing the subject away from herself and her feelings. She knew by now not to try and convince Sherlock to tell anyone else that he was alive, even though it was quite hard for her to see them grieving for a living man.

Sherlock shrugged lightly. He looked thinner since she had last seen him, cheekbones even more pronounced them before, and had started growing a beard. He wasn't the same Sherlock she remembered, and to be honest, it scared her.

"I think I'll be here a few days," Sherlock told her vaguely. "I have some _business_ to take care off."

"Right." Molly stood up. "I'll go make some coffee. Are you hungry? There might be some biscuits in the break room."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks. Coffee would be lovely."

Molly walked out of the room, not feeling right leaving him there alone but needing a moment to herself to collect her emotions into something more manageable. Every time she looked at his face and saw how beaten his gaze was it made her feel like crying. She just wanted him to come home for good, so that everything could go back to the way it had been before he "died."

Molly made the coffee quickly, somehow still remembering how Sherlock liked it.

But when she got back he was gone, the only thing left to prove he had been there at all being a small note of, "Goodbye, Molly."

 **5:**

There was a soft thud against the hard wood table as Molly placed down a fresh cup of coffee.

Sherlock glanced up at the noise, his eyes glazed from staring through a microscope and looking exhausted. "I thought you'd gone home."

"I was going to," Molly admitted softly, letting go of the mug. "But I figured that you could use some coffee before I did. You've been here awhile."

Sherlock stared at her, his eyes boring into her's even more intensely then they usually did. "Thank you, Molly Hooper," he said softly. "I don't know a lot of people who would do that for me."

Molly stared back at him, something in her stomach fluttering and flying away into a figurative sunset. "I'll always bring you coffee, Sherlock," she whispered.

And she meant it.

 **+1**

Molly twisted one strand of hair that had escaped from her braid. She patted her pockets for a bobby pin before realizing that she didn't have one and dtopping the hair.

Sherlock would probably notice and make some sort of comment about how her braids weren't as tight as they used to be. Or that her hair was messier. Or that she was purposefully pulling out pieces so that he would brush them away.

What he probably _wouldn't_ notice was that she had straightened her layers. That she was wearing a new shirt. That she had painted her nails. That she was wearing dangly earrings. He wouldn't notice all the things that Molly wanted him to notice.

But that was how it had always been. Her, pining away and wanting him just to look at her like a normal human being, and him being completely clueless except to the things she didn't want him to see.

John understood. Molly had had many long conversations about him on nights when Sherlock was deep in his work and didn't want to be disturbed. He saw exactly how she felt for him.

"It's just how Sherlock is," John said, trying to explain the little he understood about how Sherlock thought. "He only sees the things he wants to see; the things he's looking for."

"And I'm just not," Molly slumped, letting out a long sigh.

"No, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, John," Molly assured him. "It's not like this is news to me."

"He does care about you, Molly," John continued, trying desperately to get that depressed look off of her face. He thought Molly was a good person, and that she deserved happiness, and someone even better then Sherlock. "You can tell. He wouldn't keep coming back to this specific morgue if he didn't care about you and consider you a valuable asset in solving all his cases."

Molly nodded a little bit, giving him a smile. "Thanks, John," she murmured, "It's means a lot, it really does."

John's words did mean something to her, truthfully. Just not a lot. Molly wanted Sherlock to care about her, and it made her happy to think he did, but she wanted _more_ then that. She wanted him to feel the same way about her that she did about him. She wanted him to feel tingles when they touched and butterflies when she smiled, and to be happy to see her when they would bump into each other at the morgue or a their favorite coffee place.

Molly wanted Sherlock to love her.

But that was never going to happen.

She fiddled with the strand of hair around her face as he walked back into the room, holding a new slide for the microscope and his coat over one arm.

"Want me to take that?" Molly offered, nodding at the coat.

"Hmm?" Sherlock didn't seem to hear her. "Yes, yes, coffee would be lovely."

Molly frowned in annoyance. "I offered to take you're coat, not get you coffee," she grumbled, grabbing it from his arm and throwing it carelessly over the back of a chair. "I'm not you're secretary, Sherlock."

"Right, right." Sherlock peered into the microscope, fingers drumming with concentration. "I don't suppose you are."

Throwing her hands up in frustration, Molly turned and stomped to the other side of the lab to catch up on some reports she should have done yesterday.

She heard Sherlock gathering his things and leaving the lab, but she didn't watch him go. Her shoulders slumped, realizing he hadn't even said goodbye. How long was her stupid heart going to keep trying to convince her that things would somehow, someday work between the two of them? It was ridiculous, and she was wasting her time-

Suddenly, a mug of coffee appeared on the table in front of her. Molly stared at it for a moment, watching the steam from the liquid rising into the air.

Then her eyes shifted upward and were met with Sherlock's smile.

"You're right," he said softly, hand still looped around the handle of the mug. "You're not my secretary. You're my friend."

Molly cheeks colored a warm pink as he cupped her face in his hands and lightly pressed their lips together.

She felt a babble coming out of her mouth the moment they broke apart. "For the record, I don't mind bringing you coffee, I just felt like it was a bit unnecessary considering I hadn't even asked if you wanted any. But thank you for bringing _me_ coffee, I mean it's a little late in the day but I'll drink it anyway and I'm sure it's exactly the way I like it because, well it's you and-"

Sherlock leaned down and kissed her again, effectively shutting her off.

 **Author's Note: And there you have it :) 5+1 tropes are fun, though I must say I'm always searching for 5 ficlets that actually have the same theme :P**

 **Tell me if you want to read some more of these two! I really do like them.**


End file.
